


Elusive Subjects

by Sedona_Eats_Ortolans



Category: Hannibal (TV), hannigram - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Hannibal fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24780736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sedona_Eats_Ortolans/pseuds/Sedona_Eats_Ortolans
Summary: Season 3 Hannibal. Will gets shot by Chiyoh, but instead of trying to saw his head off Hannibal takes care of him. Basically some fluff to cope <3
Relationships: Hannibal/Will, hannibal x will, hannigram
Comments: 7
Kudos: 95





	Elusive Subjects

It all happened too quickly for Will to interpret through the thick fog of pain clouding his vision. One moment, he was walking beside Hannibal, both of them bloodied and bruised, but alive and together. The next, he was falling to the ground; blood spurting from his shoulder- it felt as if the world was toppling over. A sniper. Was he lucky it was just his shoulder that got hit? Luck had never seem to come to his aid. But why go through the trouble of aiming a rifle from a rooftop if it wasn’t to kill?  
Hannibal beside him didn’t seem shaken. of course, he always decidedly refrained from portraying any emotion like panic- he just hauled Will to his feet and began to drag him towards one of the buildings.   
Will hung onto the man for support, trying to force words through his lips instead of groans of pain.  
“They... might get you...next.” Hannibal shook his head slightly, leading Will into what appeared to be a luxurious flat building. Hannibal managed to shield the image of his wound with his body enough that the scattered public didn’t raise alarm around them. The last thing Will, and Hannibal wanted was for him to be incapacitated in a public hospital.   
“Chiyoh wouldn’t shoot me.”  
Chiyoh. The last name Will clung to before his consciousness wavered in and out, and he could soon only focus on each step, and the soft sound of Hannibal’s breaths.   
He jolted to the present, feeling Hannibal’s stark gentleness as he was laid down on a couch. Where were they? It was some posh apartment, all velvet and gold embroidery around the edges.   
“This is going to hurt.” Hannibal spoke curtly, his voice too far off for Will to protest before his suit jacket was being swiftly pulled from his shoulders. He grit his teeth, a sound of pain dragged through his lips as he was pulled against Hannibal’s chest, the man’s fingers twining through his hair; his blood no doubt sleeping through to the fine fabrics of Hannibal’s suit.   
“I’m going to remove the bullet.” Hannibal pushed Will back against the couch, the absence of his embrace like a feverish ache. He carefully cut away at Will’s shirt to reveal the bullet wound, a steady gush of blood leaving stains all along the injured man’s shirt. Will didn’t pull his hands from Hannibal; as if searching for an anchor they clung to the back of his shirt, and short locks of his hair.  
“Hann...Hannibal.” Will hissed between laboured breaths, one hand falling from his neck to reach for the pliers set on the side table. Hannibal didn’t make an effort to raise his gaze for eye contact- he only moved Will’s free hand back down to the side. Every movement affectionate, but firm. Pinned under his authority.  
“You’re not going to kill me.” Will managed. It was a question- a plead, almost. He should be trying to drag himself away, out of Hannibal’s grasp, but as always with him his free will was no longer free. Hannibal’s very presence filled Will with some certainty; he was always willing to hand over everything for him. More often than not he spited himself for it.   
Hannibal chuckled, softly and barely audibly. “No, perhaps not.” The clatter of an instrument being lifted followed.   
It wasn’t really an answer. Will sighed- the breath quickly turning into a scream, low and muffled but a scream all the same. Hannibal softly shushed him, speaking in whispered toned as he dug the pliers further into Will’s skin.   
“Tilt your head back.   
Close your eyes.   
And wade into the stream.”  
The last thing Will could remember was the expression of almost fearful concentration on Hannibal’s face before his vision shattered and scattered away from him, and all he could hear was the babbling of water.   
When Will woke up, he was in a foreign bed. Plush and soft, with what felt like ten hundred layers of blankets on top of him. He sat up, a groan of pain followed as his eyes strained and fluttered open to survey the tastefully decorated room.   
He was in Hannibal’s room. It was painfully obvious, from the blood red of the drapes from which sunlight seeped onto the covers to the carefully plated and arranged fruits on the dark desk table.   
But no Hannibal in sight.  
Will resisted to urge to call out for him, to plead him to his bedside and struggle to hold back a smile when his presence filled the room. He tried to push himself up further to lean against the backboard of the bed, but almost immediately fell back down with a pained huff. His shoulder was heavily bandaged, and felt nearly numb but pounding with a dull ache. How long had it been since he was shot? His mouth felt dry.   
He closed his eyes again, sinking back in surrender against the delicately folded blankets.  
Before Will could fall back into that welcoming peace of sleep, footsteps sounded somewhere beyond the open doorway, approaching. Will didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t need to.   
“Hannibal.”   
A pause. The sound of a dish being lowered onto a table.   
“Will.”   
“Where are we?”  
“My apartment.” Will opened his eyes, just in time to meet the startling gaze of the other man seated in a chair beside his bed. Their eye contact wasn’t uncomfortable to him anymore; it was familiar and unnerving.   
“What did you do?” Will lowered his eyes, finding the dish beside him to be a surprising bowl of...chicken soup? He felt a quirk of his lips.  
“I treated your bullet wound. It will still hurt for a couple days. Come on, up.” Hannibal guided him into a sitting up position, his hand curving around the side of Will’s face in that too familiar crevice- like when he had looked into his eyes and seen more than a broken man, but still discarded him to the bloodied floor. Will shook the memory away, along with the phantom antlers that hung as a silhouette to Hannibal’s figure.   
“Why?” A naive question. Hannibal’s hand wandered in strokes from Will’s face to his neck, his jawline, contemplating and calculating, eyes boring into his.   
Eyes.   
*Eyes*.   
“Perhaps, I felt charitable. I would become predictable if I were always trying to kill you.” His words were paused, measured, but finessed with that warm and terrifying half smile that followed. His hand fell from Will’s face as he turned to lift the soup bowl. Will ignored the part of his brain that said *awww*.  
“Chicken soup. Remember?”  
“Who was the chicken?” Hannibal ignored him with a twitch at the corner of his lips, as unreadable as ever. Infuriatingly and charmingly evasive. Hannibal tipped spoonful after spoonful into Will’s mouth- whatever it was, it was perfectly cooked, and Will was admittedly famished.  
“Have you ever ruined a course?” Will asked after the silence broken only by the sound of his swallows got to be too much. Who knew how long this peace would last before they were back at each other’s throats? Or before he left...again.  
Hannibal set the bowl aside with a quiet sigh of contemplation, tilting his head upwards towards the ceiling.   
“Of course. Occasionally it is my own meal that escapes or willfully eludes me.” Hannibal lowered his eyes to Will’s. “Is it the same with your fishing?”  
A game, of course. How could words spoken by Dr. Lecter not be.  
“I’ve gotten practiced at lures. I’m adept in my ability to catch *elusive* subjects, as you might say.”   
Hannibal’s eyebrow quirked upwards.  
“Have I been elusive, Will?” His voice was quiet. Measuring.   
Will’s eyes snagged his and it felt like an intrusion on both ends.  
“For too long.” Will said decidedly, tentatively lifting a hand to the back of Hannibal’s neck...before falling back to the bed. Touch was a familiar expression between them, but too often Will found he wanted more, anything more. Without his guidance, he didn’t truly know where the line was. If he was permitted to cross it.   
“If I were you, I would be more careful what prey you end up luring.” Hannibal said, seeming to examine the slightest change in Will’s expression. Will scoffed, looking away to glance out the wide window, sky full of clouds and sun beaming in the heat of the day.  
“Since when have you been the prey?” He looked back, caught unawares at that *look* in Hannibal’s eyes. Amused, and focused, and targeted on him like a rifle sight. He felt as if his own breaths hushed themselves as to not disturb their moment of searching and *yearning* in the other’s eyes.   
Despite the feeling of frozen suspension in the moment- like they could stay there for hours or let an eternity pass by without change- Hannibal moved. He leaned over Will, one of his hands planted beside him on the bed and the other casually trailing to the side of his face. Will looked at him through his eyelashes, eyes falling half closed. Hannibal’s exhale brushed tauntingly against his lips, head tilting to the side slightly. Together, they crossed that final distance, a small kiss followed by another, longer and drawn out. Will kept himself propped up on one elbow, his other hand reaching to curl around Hannibal’s shirt collar; an unspoken *don’t disappear*. Not a hallucination. Eyes closed, skin flushed and the feeling of Hannibal, closer than Will had ever hoped he would be.   
*This is real.*   
Will couldn’t even consider how time played into how long they were locked there, in some sacred moment he didn’t want to break.  
Like the teacup, all things broke.  
Their own rushed breaths betrayed them, and he felt the ghost of Hannibal’s smile before the sudden absence of him completely. It felt like a theft.   
When Will opened his eyes again, Hannibal was back in his chair from before, the only sign anything happened at all being his hair just slightly out of place, falling across his forehead. Will had the instinct to reach up and brush his hair aside for him, but he quelled then thought instantly.   
He felt almost dizzy with euphoria.   
“Here, finish this. You’ll feel better.” Will blinked, another spoonful of soup hovering in front of his lips. Will swallowed it, his eyes trained on Hannibal, who was now apparently completely nonchalant, already reaching for another spoonful. The silence between them was vast and suffocating, abundant and empty. All tingling lips and the distant scraping of the spoon against the bowl, until all of the contents were gone.  
Will felt as if he were waiting for something. Would Hannibal kiss him again? The feeling or that moment being separate, or perhaps a means of manipulation....  
Hannibal moved to get up, dish in hand. Will automatically sat up, ready to rise with him. He was stopped by Hannibal’s hand on his right shoulder- not present enough to cause him pain but serving a reminder to his injury.   
“Rest, Will.” He said with an infuriatingly sweet smile, his hand sliding to cup Will’s chin. “I will be here when you wake.” A promise enough, though Will wanted to ask what, and why, and for how long.   
Hannibal left the room, the atmosphere seeming to freeze with him gone. Will sighed as he fell back under the covers, the silky memory of Hannibal’s lips on his sneaking into any possible fragment of a dream.


End file.
